


Print

by LuxLox



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Historical, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-08 11:42:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15242625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxLox/pseuds/LuxLox
Summary: London 1941Once a world class actor -now outcast by a scandal- Arthur Kirkland is hesitant when he's given a chance to reclaim his career with a new, American actor who's eager to work with him in London's war-torn West End. However, as secrets soon begin to leak, his hesitation seems to be more justified than ever.





	1. World Class

_**London, England, 1941** _

“You wouldn’t have been quite my first choice.” Arthur’s boss said. “But this is a job just for you, apparently.”

The words stung, but Arthur - being a washed out writer and actor - was offended in neither profession. Still, the sentence was insulting enough that he thought he may as well argue for the sake of his pride if nothing else. 

“I’ve had more fame than you could ever dream of, Francis. I’m a wo-o-o-o-orld class actor. Remember that?”

“Oui… yes...” Francis looked unimpressed, as though he could recall nothing but negativity from those memories. “Let me reword. Your scandal rather washed the world class out of you, so you’re a risk. Sorry to say so, but you are. I just want you to think about that before considering my offer.”

“The scandals forgotten. I work in theatre. It’s an art and everyone in that art has a scandal. Mine was a long time coming, is all.”

“Arthur, I ask of you professionality now, if not some form of awareness. I want you to consider your current… position… and then listen to what I have to say. Okay?” His hand twisted along with his voice, as though churning it out on a treadmill. He had a French charm to his accent and a slur to the gaps between his words, one which made him appear as though he was choosing his vocabulary carefully, but really cared here nor there for the harshness of his phrasing. “Hm? Is that Okay?” He grinned, professional and forced.

“What’s the offer?”

“Magnificent. You will be working on a play with a new and prime young act-“

“No.”

“Arthur, hear me out.”

“No. I don’t work with inexperienced actors. I made that very clear when I first debuted and they signed me up straight away. I’m worth more than-“

“And how long ago was that?”

“Well… well, I’d say that’s beside the point. Wouldn’t you?”

“Not at all. How long ago? Or has it been so long you cannot even remember-“

“Thirteen years. I remember very well. It has been thirteen years, and thirteen years that I have had to perfect my trade, mind you.”

“Mm. And perfect it you did. Then you threw it all to the trash because you were too careless and selfish with that poor-“

“Shut up. Just shut up. I was intoxicated. As I have said many a time, very intoxicated. But the papers always leave that out, don’t they? Never once asked me. Never once.”

“You don’t usually require someone’s consent in order to ruin their life, Arthur.”

“If you’re… if you’re only going to berate me, then I shall take my leave. Good day, Mr Bonnefoy, I look forward to working with you under less obstructive circumstances.”

“No. Put your coat back down...and your hat. We are not finished here, you will know when we are finished here, because you will hear the words straight from my mouth. Until then, you will sit, and hear. Me. Out.”

“You can’t order me around. We’re not in the army.”

“And I’ll have you remember exactly that. You’re very lucky not to be conscripted. Very lucky. But that means unfortunately, there’s hardly any work out there. Nothing at all, unless you’re in Hollywood. And we’re not. We’re in Covent-fucking-Gardens. So you will sit down, and you will damn well listen to me, Arthur Kirkland. Damn well, if you want to keep that nice house of yours, and those expensive habits you’ve acquired.”

Arthur, feeling as though he was made of creaking iron, slowly obeyed the order, dropping his coat and hat to the floor next to him in a final protest. Francis’ steady eyes followed them down, and he sighed as they hit the ground. He sighed again, heavier and exhausted, when Arthur sat his own self down, crossing his legs rigidly.

“Begin again.” Arthur said, a smoothness to his voice that could only indicate anger. “I’m listening.”

Francis corrected the leather of his watch, taking his time, retaking back the conversation calmly. When he spoke, it was tight and professional and completely wiped clean of any emotion he may have had prior. 

“There’s a new play, starting up in Martins Square. It’s about war, of course. That’s all the rage now. Have the big hero march off to war, save England and the Allies… all that business. Anyway, there’s been the way of some promising fresh talent in the audition rooms. The casting directors are stone carved in getting him. However… however, he’s set conditions.”

“I dislike him already.”

“-that’s where you come in.”

“What? What do you meant by that?”

“You are his conditions.”

“What?”

“He wants you to act with him.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Mm. Ludicrous, I know, but that was his term.”

“Did he give a… give a reason at least?”

“Not one that they bothered passing onto me. All they told me was that you were needed, and he had asked for you.”

“Well I…”

“I’d like to point out, Arthur, that although we have our differences, we’ve been doing this together for a very long time, and I very much dislike seeing you fall. So, I do have your best interests in mind. And my advice would be you take this offer. You take it and you don’t moan about it, because you’re not what you once were but I would like to see you become it again.”

Arthur looked down. Nodding, accepting. 

“...who… who is he, then? What’s so important about him that he can create terms?”

“He’s American.”

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’? He’s American. That’s all that needs be said. He’s American, young and talented, those are very far and few between in this country, at present anyway, and they’re all in demand, aren’t they? The Americans. Oh, oui, I don’t understand it myself, but I suppose it’s something to do with this war. Everything seems to be.”

“Well it’s rather relevant. It is raging onwards on the continent. On your continent, mind.”

Francis pursed his lips, and his chest seemed to rise until it was trapped beneath his stiff shirt collar. “Yes. Thank you for reminding me. I have a brother fighting in Picardy.”

“Well, yes.” Arthur said, out-of-placedly. Then a slow and dripping confidence seemed to drain from him, and his mouth began to drop with his eyes. He unhooked his legs, and leant forward without intimidation.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean… I have brothers too and…”

“Anyway.” Both throats were cleared, one beneath a starched and pristine arrow collar, the other itching away behind a tattered, cotton thing that would have once been pressed finely. But the atmosphere - the feeling that they were so unimportant in something much bigger than themselves, their status, or whatever collar they may be wearing- wasn’t. It sat heavily for a second or two, giving them a solitude and similarity with each other, and didn’t break when Francis began to speak again. A hushed tone, as though they were friends talking in a busy café.

“Will you take it?”

“Oh… oh I don’t…”

“Arthur. I’m almost on my knees. Please, please take it.”

“Oh. To hell with it. To hell with it, then. When should I go and see them?”

A grin broke onto Francis’ face, he clapped his own hands, like giving it a monosyllabic applause. “Now, that does make me happy. In fact, the boy wants to meet you in person. To get to know who he’s working with for the coming months, I suppose. Should I schedule next week for you both?”

“I’m rather busy,” Arthur lied. “But I’ll keep next week open.”

“Magnificent. I’ll send you a line when I have it booked.”

“Smashing.” Arthur faltered, and then began as casually as he could, “Oh, Francis, one other thing?”

“Yes?”

“About the matter of… well, of pay?”

Francis smiled, but without the humour that gave it it’s usual charm. “I’ll get you as high as I can, Arthur, I give you my word.”

“Oh, no, well I only ask because… because...I like to…” stopping mid-sentence, he walked out with his head down, and no money for the bus ride home.

 


	2. Arthur, Sir

Most actors will look like actors whether they actively appeal to do so or not. They are structured on what is fashionable and what’ll get one listed under the title of ‘talented.’ And since those two things seem to always be confined to a rather niche list and circle, they tend not to differ too far from each other. Most actors will look normal, and on the pretty side of it as well.

Alfred Jones was the exception to this. For although his face and what could be seen of his body boasted good looks, he was very good at hiding it. In fact, he was very good at hiding all of himself completely, under this rather large- and what looked like leather- jacket, a blue shirt far too small for him (so that it pinched at the buttons and pushed into his arms.) and plain, black trousers that didn’t too much good in pulling the outfit together. In fact, they might have been jeans. Arthur hadn’t seen someone wearing jeans in years. 

He seemed like a jean fellow, when Arthur had gotten off the bus at the address given to him, he could sense that the boy now running up to him and smiling had definitely worn jeans in his lifetime. It was one of the senses Arthur had as someone who was used to working in theatre - how carefree is the person you’re now going to be working with. And Alfred set denim alarm bells ringing instantly.

“Hello-o-o-o-o!” He had said, in one drawn out syllable that might have been a heavy intake of breath. He seemed to have run quite vigorously when he spotted Arthur, who had raked himself off the back of the bus with his umbrella and cane, in some endeavour at looking professional. 

“You’re Arthur?” He had asked, which would have been a good question to ask, had he not carried on. “Arthur Kirkland? Sir, you are? If you’re not, that’s fine and dandy, you just say. Only you look quite like him. Re-e-e-e-al like him. You know that? You look a lot like Arthur Kirkland. Are you him, Sir?”

“Uhm… who is it asking?”

“Oh, why, yes I should have said that, shouldn’t I have. The name’s Alfred. Alfred Jones.”

Arthur couldn’t help a frown. He had hoped, perhaps in vain, that that wasn’t going to be the answer.

“F Jones?”

“Hm? I didn’t catch ya there.”

“Alfred _F_ Jones? Only… that’s-“

“Oh, why, yes! I am sorry, I forget. That’s my name now, now I’m going to be a star. Did you know that? That they change your name if somebody already has it? Why, I thought that was unfair, mighty unfair. What happens when the third Alfred Jones comes along, they’ll change his name to Alfredo Jones? Something like that? But that’s not his name. You’d go your whole life having people ask you if you’re Italian, and you’re not. You’re just a movie star. Why, I say, if I ever meet an Alfredo, I’ll tell him I’m sorry for that.”

“You do that, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“Oh, now, Arthur.” He took one of Arthur’s gloves hands between his two, and shook it earnestly. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I was always a big fan.”

“Thank you.”

“-And I’ve always dreamed about this. About meeting you again. Why, I had… I had a whole speech planned out and I think I’ve forgotten it all.”

“What a shame, dear.”

“-ain’t it? Aw, well, I suppose it don’t matter. Words don’t matter, anyways. I’ll just show you how pleased I am to see you. Let’s say we go somewhere fancy for lunch - on me.”

Arthur looked him up and down. Straight up and down. Then he smiled. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose upon your wallet or-“

“Schmitzo-schmatzo, don’t worry about that now. On me. I insist. And choose the best place in town!”

“That’s too kind-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“My dear boy, I can’t even think of anywhere to go!”

“How about that new café down in old-“

“Oh-h-h… Uhm...no, no. No. No, not that. Come to think of it, I do know the perfect place, actually.”

“Lead on, Arthur, Sir.”

 

******

“See, I did say.” Arthur mopped at his mouth with a pink hanky. “The cakes here are exquisite.” 

“Well, for rationed food, they’re not bad. You’re right.”

“They’ve even got cream! Real cream, not the fake stuff. At least I hope it’s not… I have to thank you, old boy, I haven’t had something like this in a while.”

“That’s alright. It’s on me, like I said.”

“Mm… thank you for giving me yours as well. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like raisins.”

“Well, Nice to meet ya, then.”

Arthur smiled at him, then got back to digging into the second cake.

“So… so why the need to meet me before we have to do it professionally anyway?”

“Oh… Oh, well I’ll..”

Noticing the boy seemed hesitant and at a loss for words, Arthur urged him on confidently and with the air of all the bosses he had looked up to over the many years. “You can be frank with me, dear boy. Spit whatever it is out.”

“Heh… well, I’ll tell ya something, shall I? I’m keen on being an actor, damn right I am, but I ain’t been keen on what I’ve seen about the acting life so far. Too segregated for my liking. Too much. I like to get to know a person- the real person - before we have to act like we have respect for each other because of… because of how things are.” He took a sip of his coffee, which had acted like his breath throughout the previous conversations, and then he carried on. “ though, I’ll tell ya, I have respect for you Arthur. I told you before, I been a fan for a long, long time.” He stretched out his arms wide, in a physical representation of just how long that time had been. Arthur acknowledged it with a smile. 

“It does flatter me every time you say it, dear.” 

Alfred suddenly looked down, embarrassed, and instinctually he pulled his arms into himself, wringing his hands around as he spoke. “Well… well, I just gotta tell you. Since I forgot that speech, I suppose. I don’t have much else to say.” He shrugged, consciously pulling his hands above the table and planting them firmly apart from each other. “You could say… you could say I admire you, Arthur sir.”

For a moment, Arthur felt like a human again, or at least what human felt like back in the fame driven, celebrity high-life of the nineteen twenties. People at his teenage heels, begging to be spoken to, grabbing at his velvet coat and holding out pens and blank notepads fated to stay blank as Arthur was escorted off in some expensive black car, protected by expensive people dressed in expensive black suits. That was Hollywood, and Alfred seemed to bring it all back with every nervous stutter and each shaky eye glance, the way his hands fiddled around each time he spoke, and the cyclical way he would make sure Arthur knew how much he had “dreamed of this day.” - in all matter of fact, It gave Arthur the spur of confidence he had been looking for for six years. Which Arthur found rather rattling. He wasn’t used to feeling happy.

Alfred was the one to suggest they leave, having finished his second, watery coffee in one big gulp, and waited patiently for Arthur to do the same with his tea. He’d also offered for them to continue their conversation in his flat, though Arthur didn’t entirely register the words the first time round, and- with Alfred having not repeated them- they seemed doomed to having only the ten minute walk back to the bus stop to finish up what had been said (which was a lot of nothing so far.)

“So uh… you done anything lately? Work-wise?”Alfred asked, very carefully. 

“Work-wise? Well I… wouldn’t say much, no.” Arthur replied, and then heatedly “with the War and all. You know how it can be.”

“I’m afraid not. I haven’t really had much to do with that side of things.”

“Side of things?”

“The whole war side of things, you know?”

Arthur laughed, threading his arm through Alfreds without a thought more than just that of the actions existence. “The ‘whole war side of things’ tends to be every side of things nowadays, dear. You must be young.”

Alfred shifted his arm comfortably and cleared his throat, then, as though repeating something just spoken to him, said “no, just a yank.”

“Oh!” Arthur grazed a well-meaning hand on Alfred’s coated shoulder. “but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“It does, sometimes.” 

Arthur tutted, and then a rolling, bothered sound emerged from his throat, along with a tired laugh. “Do they say that to you?”

“They?”

“The producers, the directors, do they tell you that?” 

Alfred shrugged, which was as good as an affirmative for Arthur. He stopped their stroll and with their linked arms, held Alfred still. When he spoke, it wasn’t grandiose or thickly dimensional like a speech might have been, but it wasn’t discarded out and undecidedly casual either. They were words he had had inside him, which is different and more heartfelt than something planned. It was as though he was speaking to himself, and with all the urgency and personal passion that came with that.

“Now you listen here, old boy, you listen here. Because I shan’t have them beating the light out of another bright new thing, as they have done so often and so without shame in the past. And I— and you know, You’re lucky to be where you are, and you should be proud of yourself to have made it here. Them however… they… they’ve ridden on coattails and offers till they’ve gotten to the top, and have managed to stay there by beating talented boys like you down so they can stand on top of you. So next time they say something like that to you -the next time anyone says anything like that to you- you let them know you’re just as good as them, if not better, by not even giving their words a second thought, won’t you now? You won’t, there, that’s a good chap.”

Alfred put a hand to his cheek and looked away for a long moment, as a shiver began to start up. It ran up from his knees until it finally met his shoulders and was let out in one large and erupting sob. He took a shielding step backwards, unthreading his arm from Arthur’s and using both hands to cover his face. Then he breathed, looked away, and apologised with a small shake of his head. All of this, Arthur thought, must have taken place in only fifteen seconds or less.

“Oh— Oh dear, now I haven’t said something wrong, have I?” Arthur tried, suddenly feeling like a pin in somethings side.

“Awh hell, no, you haven’t. And that’s just the problem.” Alfred answered, voice strong but irratically paused, as though his words were having to push through a covered plughole. “You been kind to me since I got here, and, and it just weren’t…” he turned around again, eyes conveniently just looking past Arthur. “And I just feel awful about it now. Guilty.”

Arthur frowned “Why? What have you got to feel guilty ab—“

“Hey, ain’t that your bus? The sixtey-six?” 

Arthur turned to look at where Alfred was now distractedly pointing, a big red thing was trailing up the road, pulling sitting people into standing like a horseshoe magnet against iron filings. Arthur began to make his way backwards, pointing his cane and giving a little wave of acknowledgment to Alfred. 

“Right, yes. You’re right. I’ll be rushing off now then, I suppose. Cheerio. I’ll be looking forward to working with you tomorrow, dear.”

“Day after. Not tomorrow,”

“Oh right, day after tomorrow. You’re quite right.”

“Me too though, Arthur Sir. I’ll be looking forward too. It was nice meeting you.” The boy still had drying tears in his eyes when Arthur left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awrite so, still not too used to this new, more compacted style I'm trying out, but hopefully I'll have the hang of it by next chapter bc that's when stuffs actually gonna start happenin' c; hopefully,, 
> 
> Thank you soooo much for readin', and reviews are appreciated so so much ya don't even know<3
> 
> See ya in the next chapter!!

**Author's Note:**

> helloooooooo, I'm back with a new fic and I have high hopes for actually finishing this one fellas. Thanks so much for reading :")) I'm trying out a bit of a different writing style with this fic, so I super hope you enjoyed, and I cant wait to read any reviews ya may take the time to leave <3


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